


The Closest We'll Ever Be

by lesdemonium (winnerstick)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Biting, Canon Compliant, First Time, Forest Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Shameless Smut, Smut, or well enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnerstick/pseuds/lesdemonium
Summary: Though Jaskier knew he was persuasive, he did not truly believe the witcher would allow him to continue trailing him after their meeting with Filavandrel. He definitely wasn't expecting their mutual restless energy after a long day to culminate in a tryst in the forest.Jaskier tried, he really did, but the day had left him with too much restless energy. He shifted on the log they were sitting on every few seconds, bumping into Geralt as he did so, he bounced his leg so quickly it was almost manic, he tried to find some way of burning this energy without speaking, but it was so often his solace he didn’t know what else to turn to.Geralt, however, seemed tense. His shoulders were rigid and now that Jaskier thought about it, he didn’t think he had seen or felt the witcher move in maybe an hour. That was, until Geralt’s hand thrust out and gripped Jaskier’s leg, pinning it down. Jaskier turned to look at Geralt and their eyes met, and finally, Jaskier could see the same restless energy reflected in Geralt’s eyes.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 453





	The Closest We'll Ever Be

Jaskier was, quite honestly, shocked that Geralt was accepting his continued company on the trek back from Filavandrel’s mountains. His half-hearted “This is where we part, bard,” hadn’t done much to deter Jaskier from continuing on with the witcher, but he had assumed there would be a bit more fight to him. They made their way along the trail, avoiding Posada and any unwanted questions. Geralt was as quiet as Jaskier was starting to assume he always was, and Jaskier focused on the song he would write rather than the way his entire world and knowledge of humans had been turned upside down.

He didn’t want to think about what he had learned about the elves’ poor treatment, so he focused on what he did best: writing songs. And this one, he knew, was going to be amazing. And Filavandrel’s lute was a sight and sound to behold.

So he was shocked that Geralt was allowing Jaskier to stay, but he wasn’t about to call off whatever magic had occurred by speaking it into existence, so instead he followed him as the witcher rode and braced himself for a night of camping. It wasn’t ideal, Jaskier  _ much _ preferred his little luxuries, but it hadn’t been the first time he had roughed it, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Though, his roughing it days might be fewer and far between if the song continued to flow as well as it had been thus far. He had a hit on his hands, and he knew it.

After a long day of traveling and writing, Jaskier was pretty sure his blisters had blisters, and his footwear, while very fashionable, might not have been the best choice for taking up adventuring. Finally, as the sun was getting low on the horizon, they had made it to a forested-enough area that Geralt seemed to deem it worthy and they pulled to a stop.

“Jaskier,” Geralt finally said, though he did not look up from the campfire he was staring at.

Jaskier stopped strumming on his lute and humming as he looked up at the witcher. Without his own noise, the forest felt almost empty, despite the crackle of the fire and the crickets chirping in the distance. It was a sound, or lack thereof, that made Jaskier distinctly uncomfortable, but Geralt looked as if he might be at the end of his rope with Jaskier’s composing, so he took a moment of pity on the man and put down the lute.

“Alright, alright, I will save my genius for another day,” Jaskier conceded, nodding at Geralt, who only rolled his eyes in response.

And Jaskier tried, he really did, but the day had left him with too much restless energy. He shifted on the log they were sitting on every few seconds, bumping into Geralt as he did so, he bounced his leg so quickly it was almost manic, he tried to find  _ some _ way of burning this energy without speaking, but it was so often his solace he didn’t know what else to turn to.

Geralt, however, seemed tense. His shoulders were rigid and now that Jaskier thought about it, he didn’t think he had seen or felt the witcher move in maybe an hour. That was, until Geralt’s hand thrust out and gripped Jaskier’s leg, pinning it. Jaskier turned to look at Geralt and their eyes met, and finally, Jaskier could see the same restless energy reflected in Geralt’s eyes.

It was fast. So fast, Jaskier wasn’t even sure who had initiated it, but suddenly his mouth was slotting against Geralt’s in a bruising, keyed up kiss.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do with his hands, everywhere felt too hard and too sharp, and he was certain cutting himself would distract them both from what he suddenly felt was a very, very important turn of events. Finally, he found a safe enough place on Geralt’s sides, just in time for Geralt to nudge him off the log and onto the ground. Geralt braced himself on either side of Jaskier and hovered over Jaskier, their hips flush against each other. Jaskier’s cock was rising to action, slowly, and he could tell from the growing stiffness in Geralt’s trousers that the other man was not far behind. 

“Gods, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, probably the quietest he’s ever been, but something about this moment felt like it deserved reverence. Or, maybe he was just trying to be poetic; he had been known to do this. There was nothing particularly romantic about the way Geralt was tugging open Jaskier’s doublet or pulling his undershirt out of his trousers, and the way he was now sucking a mark into Jaskier’s collarbone was nothing short of sinful, but Jaskier couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help that this man made him want to write songs about all of his exploits, preferably if they involved Jaskier.

Jaskier’s fingers threaded in Geralt’s hair as he allowed Geralt to work, though it was with considerable hesitation that he pulled them out to lift his hips up to assist Geralt in removing his trousers. His eyes were piercing, somehow almost brighter than usual in his lust, and Jaskier hated to call any behavior of Geralt’s animalistic, but he looked as if he wanted to devour Jaskier.

A shiver ran through Jaskier’s body at the thought, and Geralt--bless him--must have perceived this as a chill from his lack of clothes, because once he removed Jaskier’s pants, he reached for his bedroll. It was an awkward thing, trying to get the bedroll under himself as Jaskier watched Geralt remove his own trousers, but he managed to do it, if a bit sloppily. Jaskier propped himself up on his elbows, and he wasn’t at all embarrassed to realize that the sight of Geralt’s cock had brought him to full hardness. If he wasn’t sure Geralt would kill him, he could write a song or two about his cock alone, and he hadn’t even  _ felt it _ yet.

The trousers removed and kicked away--with very little grace, Jaskier was pleased to note, at least there were some small things that took away from Geralt’s perfection--Geralt rejoined Jaskier on the ground. One hand held him over Jaskier while the other cupped the back of Jaskier’s head to pull him into another rough kiss. Jaskier moaned against Geralt’s mouth, and though he couldn’t see it, he could feel Geralt’s lips tighten into what Jaskier was  _ sure _ was a smug smile.

Jaskier reached out a hand and cupped Geralt’s cock, jerking it languidly as Geralt hissed and dug his nails into the back of Jaskier’s head. Jaskier revelled at the feeling of Geralt growing hard in his hand, more than willing to interpret this as a compliment. Biology and natural male reactions be damned--he was turning on Geralt of Rivia.

Jaskier wanted so badly to ask how Geralt wanted to proceed, but he, for all his ways with words, could not think of a way that didn’t sound stupid in his own head. And if  _ he _ thought that how he was asking was stupid, there was no doubt the witcher would misinterpret his words or lose interest and pull away. It wasn’t a risk Jaskier was willing to take. Luckily, his confidence had been built by the way Geralt was letting out little moans every so often as Jaskier touched him and the way Geralt was now tonguing and nipping the mark on Jaskier’s collarbone, so instead Jaskier breathed out, “I have oil in my bag.”

For a moment, Geralt didn’t react, and Jaskier was almost sure he hadn’t heard Jaskier. Weren’t witchers supposed to have enhanced senses? Surely hearing wouldn’t have been neglected. A moment later, though, Geralt pulled away with what seemed to be great effort and raised an eyebrow at Jaskier.

His eyes were bright, probably even brighter now in their lust than they had been before. It would be easy to get lost in them, but as great as a messy handjob in the middle of a forest was, he wanted more from what might be his only chance with the witcher. So he took his hand off Geralt’s cock--promising himself to  _ never _ forget the dissatisfied sound Geralt made--and stretched his body as far as it possibly could. It wasn’t easy, grabbing his bag without leaving the warmth of Geralt’s body, but he managed to do it  _ just barely _ and retrieved the bottle of oil. He held it up for Geralt, who took it obediently and settled back on his legs.

Jaskier spread his legs around Geralt’s body as Geralt opened the vial and spread the oil generously on his fingers. Jaskier bit his lip as he watched Geralt, though he soon had to raise his eyes to look at the stars above them when one hand slowly pressed into his body and the other wrapped firmly around Jaskier’s cock.

“Fuck, Geralt. I have to say, this is  _ not _ where I saw my night going. Very, very happy with this turn of events but-- _ fuck _ \--” Jaskier cut himself off with a gasp as Geralt thumbed over the head of his cock. Jaskier picked his head back up to look at Geralt, only to see him looking very, very self-satisfied. “Oh you  _ prick _ you did that on purpose.”

“Are you complaining?” Geralt challenged.

He did have a point there. How in the world could Jaskier complain about the way Geralt was slowly fucking him open with his finger  _ and _ running his fingers so delightfully over Jaskier’s length? Jaskier wanted to touch him, pull him in for another kiss, but Geralt’s face was so far.

“”Hard to complain when the white wolf is getting ready to fuck you,” Jaskier finally answered, humming a little at the way Geralt’s face turned sour.

“I’m not the white wolf,” came Geralt’s grumbled reply.

“Not  _ yet _ ,” Jaskier corrected. 

He would have said more about how he’d sing Geralt’s tale across the land, making them both famous, but then Geralt added another finger and Jaskier quite found it was hard to form words. Or, at least, put them in a string that made any sense. He definitely didn’t stop talking, singing a chorus of soft “fuck”s and “Gods” and “Geralt”s as Geralt took him apart from the inside out. Jaskier had been nervous when they started--he had never done this with a man, only fumbling hands inside pants when he was young--but now he had quite forgotten how to be nervous. All he could focus on was the fingers inside him (he’d lost count, though) and the way Geralt stretched him. The hand on his cock never sped up its pace, and if it wasn’t making Jaskier so desperate, he’d be impressed at how steady Geralt had been.

“Geralt,  _ please _ ,” he finally begged, and that seemed to be the magic word. Geralt smirked again and removed both his hands, placing them on Jaskier’s hips instead to nudge him to turn over, which Jaskier did  _ gladly _ .

Once Jaskier was on his hands and knees, Geralt resituated his hands, one holding fast to Jaskier’s hip and one, Jaskier assumed, on his cock. Geralt pressed inside slowly and Jaskier gasped and fell to his forearms. Geralt didn’t stop; he only continued pushing forward, his pace glacial, and the stretch of it felt unlike anything else Jaskier had ever experienced. Once fully inside Jaskier, Geralt waited and leaned forward to nose along Jaskier’s back. If Jaskier had felt maybe a bit more in control of his own vocal cords, he would have questioned this, but as it stood, he mostly just loved the way Geralt was close to him.

Geralt pressed a kiss to the back of Jaskier’s neck and hummed, and though Jaskier didn’t know Geralt well, he knew a question when he heard one. Jaskier nodded vigorously,  _ needing _ more, and for this to get as breathless and face-paced as it had been before. Geralt took the invitation and started to move. His pace was slow at first, with the odd-jerky movement as if he was trying to hold himself back, but steadily he grew faster and fucked Jaskier deeper.

Before long, Geralt was at a relentless pace, and Jaskier dissolved into gasps and moans and “Fuck, Geralt,  _ just like that. _ ” Geralt’s breathing was fast, and Jaskier was pretty sure he had never heard grunts sound so sexy. His fingers were digging into Jaskier’s hips now, and Jaskier could sympathize--his own fingers were digging into the bedroll as best he could as he lifted himself back up onto his hands.

He wasn’t there for long before Geralt leaned forward, wrapping an arm around Jaskier, and pulling him up. Jaskier’s back was flush to Geralt’s chest and he groaned at the new angle this created. A hand flew to Geralt’s hair, tangling in the locks and tightening, pulling, and the way Geralt bit into Jaskier’s shoulder told Jaskier this was a welcome feeling.

He was hard, so painfully hard, and if he didn’t do something soon, he would probably lose it, which wasn’t a good look. So Jaskier took himself in his hand and tugged at his cock furiously. Jaskier’s head fell back onto Geralt’s shoulder and it only took a few good pulls before he was spilling into his hand, moaning Geralt’s name.

Geralt grunted a “Fuck,” into Jaskier’s skin as he thrust into him once, twice, three more times before his hips jerked and he emptied into Jaskier’s now-spent body. Jaskier wished he could see the witcher’s face.

They stayed there a moment, coming down from their highs and catching their breath. When Geralt removes his arm, which had still been splayed across Jaskier’s chest, Jaskier fell forward in a huff. Geralt gave an amused huff--it wasn’t quite a laugh, but Jaskier was pretty sure it was  _ close _ to one-- and pulled out of and away from Jaskier.

“Gods, Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, rolling over onto his back on the bedroll. He wiped his hand off on the log, grimacing a little as he did so. He’d kill for a bath right about now, but they were far away from any inns, and it was far too cold to take a dip in any rivers.

“You said that already,” Geralt answered, tossing Jaskier’s trousers at him (and hitting him in the  _ face _ , no respect to be had) as he stood up to put on his own. “Get dressed or you’ll freeze.”

“It’s no less true now,” Jaskier said, shrugging as he fumbled his way back into his own. Geralt didn’t respond, but Jaskier had no problem assuming he had rolled his eyes.

Instead of responding, Geralt joined Jaskier on the bedroll. Or, rather, he nudged Jaskier further to the side of the roll, almost off it. “Get your own.”

Jaskier smiled sheepishly at Geralt. “I don’t really, er, have one,” he said. Geralt, who had laid down, pushed himself back up on his forearms and  _ glared _ at Jaskier. Touchy. So, Jaskier rambled. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to sleep out in the forest. I’d had an arrangement with the innkeeper for a free room in Posada, but we couldn’t exactly go back there after you only  _ sort of _ fulfilled what you had been paid for--don’t even bother arguing Geralt, you know just as well as I do how the other people there would have reacted to the truth--so now here we are and I am woefully unprepared for camping and the next town is  _ miles _ out and did I mention you  _ gave all of your coin to Filavandrel _ ?”

Geralt sighed and laid back down, shifting over to the edge of the bedroll near him, which Jaskier  _ gladly _ took as an invitation to join him, though Geralt didn’t have much of a choice. Jaskier was not about to just sleep on the dirt. Jaskier laid back down and it was definitely a tight fit--witchers did have  _ very _ broad shoulders, it seemed--but they managed well enough.

For once, Jaskier was completely willing to silence himself in favor of sleeping, all of his restless energy now spent.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a possibility that I'll continue this to more or less follow them through the season (and maybe beyond) but in the event that DOESN'T happen, I wanted to make this more or less a stand-alone.
> 
> I'd love if you followed me and any future writing, as I get back into it, on tumblr.  
> lesdemonium.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks much for reading! It's been a minute since I've been here, so confidence boosters in the form of kudos and comments (or chatting on tumblr) are always welcome!


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